Clumsy Former Maids and Technology Don't Mix
by CEA
Summary: I wanted so many more scenes of Belle figuring out this world. Here are some I think probably would have happened.
1. The Microwave

Rumplestiltskin is in his study when a crash startles him. He is out of the seat at once, moving ungracefully without his cane to the kitchen, where the sound occurred.

Belle is there, clutching her left hand in her right, staring in confusion at what appears to be tomato soup on the floor. The microwave door is open. Rumple curses quietly to himself when he sees her eyes flood with tears, and moves to her quickly, putting her left arm around her as his right seeks out her hand. It is bright red, but fading. It has been only a day since he got her back, and he is quickly realizing how much she doesn't know (and, he keeps to himself, re-discovering his lovely companion's inherent clumsiness.)

"I am _so_ sorry," she says, voice tremulous. "I was hungry, and I did everything you told me, but I didn't realize that it would be so hot when it finished, and I just grabbed it, and-"

"It's okay," he says. "Shh, Belle, it's fine. It's an adjustment. It's just soup."

Already she's trying to pull away from him, to go to clean it up, but he holds her tighter. He tells himself it's not because he's afraid of what else she'll do.

"I don't understand this place," she says. Her voice is so quiet; it's nothing like the Belle he remembers. "People go places in giant metal boxes and science ovens cook foods for you and nothing is where it should be."

The part of him that is Rumplestiltskin agrees, but Mr. Gold is frustrated. So much is happening, and he wants her to be safe, but he also can't spare as much time as she needs to watch her and teach her.

"Sit down," he says, and she does, at one of the bar stools. Her hand is a normal peach now, and he is glad the burn was only superficial. He grabs a roll of paper towels, and she watches him clean.

"What are those?"

"Paper towels."

"Why would anyone want towels made of paper?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Because, dearie," he says, straightening to dump the pale red clump in the trash, "people in this world are_ lazy_, and they don't want to have to clean regular towels. Not any more than they have to, at least. Paper towels save money and time."

"But people must use an awful lot of them, then?" she asks. His Belle, always so curious.

"Yes. It's a big environmental problem, actually."

She looks baffled by this, and he supposes that's really the only proper reaction, anyway. Putting the paper towels back, he checks to make sure she is watching, so she knows where they are later. Then he pulls a large saucepan out of the lower cabinet, and a blue box from the cupboard above. She leans forward as he fills the pan with water, curiosity making her blue eyes shine.

"Kraft?" she reads, looking at up him.

Rumplestiltskin grins darkly. "Belle," he says, "I am about to _blow your mind_."

* * *

><p>AN: That's scene 1! I already know where I am going with scene 2. If you have any particular modern-day hurdles you would like to see poor Belle try to jump through, please feel free to suggest them! I have a list but I am sure there are many I won't think of on my own.


	2. The Shower

Belle looks dubiously at the shower, and then turns to Rumple with one eyebrow raised. "You cannot be serious."

"It's wonderful," he insists, as he has been ever since Belle accidentally flooded his downstairs bathroom two days ago. "It takes less time than a bath and you don't have to sit in your own filth."

She cocks her head, looking at him curiously. "I don't recall you ever bathing at the Dark Castle."

Rumple doesn't know what to say to that. He _didn't_ bathe at the Dark Castle. He didn't need to; magic took care of that. He straightens, Mr. Gold re-asserting himself. "It's a perfectly safe contraption, Belle. I wouldn't let you in it if it wasn't."

She eyes it again, and then reaches out, turning the hot water knob as he'd shown her. He curses the plumbing as it chooses that moment to gurgle out unsupportively, but after a moment the water is running as it should. Shortly thereafter, steam begins to rise. He stops her as she reaches out her hand again. "Turn on the cold first."

She does, and then tentatively tests the water. Belle steps back, looking the box up and down, with its sliding glass door and detachable shower head. "So, I just step in? And then back out when I'm done? That's it? It just keeps pouring?"

"Yes."

"That seems wasteful." Her nose scrunches as she thinks about it. "Do people here waste _everything_?"

"Uh-uh," he tuts, a bit of the imp creeping into his lilt. "Got you there, dearie. A shower uses _less _water."

She stares at him. "You're lying."

"You're stalling." She blushes prettily, and for a moment he forgets what they're arguing about. "Just get in, Belle. It'll be fine. The shampoo and conditioner are on the side of the tub, there's a bar of soap in the dish, and a washcloth hanging. Towels are here. You'll survive, I promise."

She looks at it one more time, then back at him. "You'll be out there?"

"Yes. I'll be in the room next door. I promise."

"Okay." She nods, then lets out a breath of air and turns around. "Can you undo the thingy on the back of the dress?"

He means to remind her that it's a _zipper_, but his tongue seems to have forgotten how to work. With shaking hands he drags it down, revealing an incredible expanse of creamy, pale skin. He steps back, hands fluttering nervously. "I'll be going, then," he says, and steps out of the room.

He waits for the sound of a crash, or a squeal, or anything to signify that something has gone horribly wrong, but hears only the sound of water running for 12 minutes before it is shut off. Another few minutes go by before Belle appears, wrapped in his robe, hair hanging wetly. He debates showing her the hair dryer he'd purchased the day before, but, upon reflection, decides that there have been enough new discoveries for today. There's time enough for to dry before bed.

She sits next to him on the couch, legs pulled up underneath her. "How was it?" he asks.

"Odd," she says truthfully. "I'm not used to being pelted with drops of water continuously."

He blinks. It's an odd way to put things, but he supposes for someone with no frame of reference it suffices well enough. Her skin is rosy and flushed from the steam, and he can't resist pulling her against his side. She relaxes against him, and he feels water from her hair soak through the top of her shirt. He doesn't care.

"One step at a time," he reminds her.

"I know," she says. "I really can't wait for this to become easier."

For the most part he agrees, but he has to admit to himself, silently, that there's something intoxicating about watching his curious beauty discover a whole new world.


End file.
